Thoughts on gender in language

In Spanish, there are masculine and feminine nouns. This does not mean that some people, places, and things are more masculine or more feminine than others. This dichotomy involves nouns preceded by the masculine article "el" (definitive) or "un" (non-definitive) and those preceded by the feminine "la"(definitive) or "una" (non-definitive).

For you jerks that think I'm a jerk for using words like definitive and non-definitive, here's a rundown: "el" and "la" translate to "the" most of the time, while "un" and "una" translate to "a" ("an" before a vowel sound!) most of the time. 

Anyway, this can be complicated for non-native Spanish learners, because it involves a lot of memorization. Usually, you can assume that a Spanish noun ending in "a" is feminine, and one ending in "o" or "e" is masculine. But there are exceptions, making it difficult to get it right every time. Plus, if your native language does not have gendered nouns, you're not used to making that distinction in the first place.

Here's where language can become a feminist issue, at least in places where gendered nouns are used (i.e. places with a romance language as its primary language). Take the example of a group of students: 3 ladies and a guy. A fifth friend strolls up, and says, "Hola, chicos." This friend uses the masculine form of the noun because there is at least one male present, even though the group is dominated by women. This is standard for plural nouns in Spanish.

In American English (can't really speak for anyone else, here), if I were that fifth friend, I would have said "Hey, guys" or "Hey, y'all" or literally "Hey, girls and boy." While the first option could be characterized as problematic in the same way that the Spanish salutation was problematic (remember, we're working with a feminist lens), it's not quite the same, is it? In fact, we often use the noun "guys" when addressing a group of girls in English. Still, I prefer "y'all" because, while it may be grammatically incorrect to some, at least it's gender-neutral. Yet, I'll admit that many would consider "guys" to be gender-neutral. See where this gets tricky?

Take another example of a group of 3 feminine-looking girls and an androgynous boy. An adult walks by, and says, "Hola, niñas" because she assumes they're all girls. Maybe these examples seem pointless, but I'm trying to compare how the Spanish and English languages handle these situations differently.

In this second example, a possible English translation would be "Hello, children." This would avoid misrepresenting any of the children, as "children" is a gender-neutral noun. The lack of gendered nouns, in this situation, seems favorable.

While it's difficult to overcome these issues in speaking, Spanish-speakers attempt to do so in writing. For example, a flyer might have "Bienvenid@s tod@s" (Welcome All), which simultaneously addresses both genders with the same noun. I've also seen "Bienvenidxs todxs."

English may not use gendered nouns, but language can still be a feminist issue. For example, in hypothetical or generic situations, where we use a situation or person as an example, we often use the masculine pronoun (his) when referring to this generic subject: When writing a resume, one should always list his most recent position first. 

Granted, this bias is more often seen in writing. Some writers try to overcome this issue by substituting "his" for "her," but some would argue that's not solving the problem at all. Others might just use the plural pronoun (their), but it's still awkward.

This is an example where Spanish is preferred because, for some reason, the pronouns are not gender specific. His, her, and their all translate to "su". Whadayaknow! Thus, in my translation work, I'm constantly faced with the decision of using "his" or "her" in my English translation because I don't have the author's original decision as a basis.

Another issue that's often associated with feminism is the use of different pejorative terms. Without diving too much into the concept of reclamation, I would like to compare some gender-specific curse words in Spanish and English.

It should also be noted that swearing is taken much more lightly here. Of course, you don't want to call your teacher or mother a bad word, but saying the equivalent of "gahd dammit" is not necessarily in bad taste.

Words like "bitch" or "cunt" are generally considered to be offensive. Sometimes, however, they are taken to be very hostile terms when perceived with a feminist lens. The argument? There's no equivalent for a guy. 

I would say "bitch" is used more often, and with less discretion. I think this is because we're conditioned to use "bitch" for girls that are out of line and "asshole" or "dick" for dudes that are out of line. We need a comparable term for each sex. 

However, "bitch" can also be used when someone just doesn't like what kind of girl you are (be that high-maintenance, tight with money, unwilling to fuck, etc.). In other words, I would say that "bitch" is thrown around more as a label than an insult, compared to "asshole" or "dick" anyway (there's that feminist lens, again). This can also be said for the word "slut".

In Spanish, the word "puta" (literally meaning prostitute) might be translated as one of the few female-specific insults I've mentioned. I would say that it can also have the same sting. For dudes, "hijo de puta" would be one of the worst insults, translating to "son of a bitch/whore." Keeping in mind that, like I said, Spanish-speakers use curse words more freely, these two words still raise eyebrows in conversation.

One Spanish insult I like is "cabrón" (meaning asshole, dick, etc.) because it has a feminine equivalent "cabrona." I think this is cool, because English-speakers might give you a weird look if you call a girl an asshole. But maybe she is. And maybe that's as insulting as I want to be.

Like the late great George Carlin once said, "These are the kind of things I think about when I'm sitting home alone and the power goes out." 

Well, this has been fun and all, but I'd really like to hear what y'all have to say. Even if all you want to do is call me a cunt.

Traveling with style

Have you ever purchased something, thinking it was really neat, and then never used it? That was me for about 2 years, up until San Fermín really. I mean, I used it maybe once or twice before that, but only recently did I discover how fucking GREAT the p-style really is.

Via www.thepstyle.com. Check it out and buy one online, or visit your local co-op/alternative 

storefront. I purchased mine at Mariposa Co-op in Philadelphia.

What the hell is a p-style you ask? Well, as you can see in the photo, it's a convenient little funnel that enables someone (like me!) without a penis to pee standing up.

And during a party like San Fermín, where the lines for the bathroom are miles long, and all the dudes pee in the streets anyway, it made my experience that much better.

Now, I carry it with me everywhere. Even when I'm in a bar, it serves in preventing me from having to actually sit on the piss-covered toilet.

An aside about toilets in bars in Pamplona: they suck. Many of them do not have toilet seats, and thus are uncomfortable and generally covered in pee. When you forget your p-style, you usually have to hover over the toilet, sometimes while also trying to keep the door shut because the lock is broken. I've asked myself a couple times, in that situation, if someone were to try to push open the door (because they're drunk and have to pee, not for any violent reasons), would I let them in to save myself from peeing all over my legs or would I do just that? And I decided that I would do the latter, just to prevent whoever from seeing me squatting over the toilet. Then I would go home because I have piss on my pants.

There are many FUNnel alternatives to the p-style. Rather than go on about them, I'll just give you the pros and cons of my model:

Pros: It's blue. And it's longer than other models I've seen so the pee stream runs away from my body and about six inches from my toes, unless I spread my legs a bit (which I've learned to do since getting sprayed a few times). I literally just unzip my pants, and stick it between my legs and pee on whatever wall or person I want to.

Con: There's only one. It's rigid plastic. I've seen others that are foldable, and thus easier to transport. But I think I'll eventually fix this problem by punching a hole in mine and putting it on my keychain.

I can't wait to take this newfound but long-time-coming habit back to the states. Forget holding it in on a car trip! Forget looking frantically for a place that's far enough away from peering eyes! Forget bushes and dumpsters! Forget toilet-hovering!

I've got it all now.

Educating kids in Spain, the American way

In many ways, I feel my primary and secondary school education was sheltered as far as content goes. I learned a lot about the merits of an American democracy, and very little about alternative governing styles. I had one geography class and one world history class throughout all my 12 years of institutional learning, the former when I was 13 and the latter when I was 17. I didn't even learn very much about modern American cities or the cultures within them, only the main industries of each region in the 19th century.

Granted, this perspective changes from person to person, from school district to school district. It's just, I distinctly remember my freshman year in college being extremely eye-opening. I only moved 300 miles east (approximately 500 kilometers) to Philadelphia, and yet it was a whole other world for me.

Three main factors that caused this shift:

1. I knew maybe two or three kids that lived there. They had graduated from my high school before me, and we had hung out a few times with mutual friends. However, they lived in a different neighborhood, 30 minutes away by bike. And they didn't go to my university, or any university for that matter. So, essentially, I was going to a school attended by more than 30,000 people I didn't know. I was kind of obligated to meet new people.

2. I really didn't know Pittsburgh that well, the closest city during my childhood. More about this here. And let's just say that my hometown's population is smaller than that of Temple's main campus. City congestion alone was enough to make my head spin.

3. I was finally on the east coast. I was among those from Boston, New York, and Washington. I was in a city that had ethnic neighborhoods! This diversity permeated my university classes as well: fellow students that had learned English as a second language, professors from all over the globe, and class discussions about poverty, globalization, and gender discrimination.

I quickly realized how closeted my education had been. I remembered fighting for the right to publish an article about teachers' lives outside of class in our school newspaper. And now, in college, I could write a column about vodka tampons.

Just as quickly, I accustomed myself to this kind of learning. And I let my learning leave the classroom, to infiltrate my life in bookstores, bike shops, Vagina Monologues rehearsals, and my kitchen. I had always had a lust for learning, but it was able to flourish in an urban and conflicted environment that was both progressive and archaic at the same time.

In short, I don't see this in my young English students here. Perhaps it truly is just a difference in personality or interests. I enjoy language, discussion, and revelation, while they enjoy Tuenti, soccer, and going to the pool.

Throughout this past month, in the many moments I wanted to roll my eyes and throw up my hands at one of my apathetic pupils, I tried to put myself in her shoes. I remember when my peers were so important to me. I remember texting under the desk during class, and dissing the teacher during lunch. Yet, I was still very studious. I always respected the teacher, at least to her face, and I took her criticism or discipline very seriously. So, sometimes, my students' shoes just didn't fit.

I also saw some of this indifference in my students' parents, and even in other teachers. I'll admit that I'm generally uninterested in whether my students want to learn English or not. I don't expect any passion. I just expect willingness to accept the nature of their education system. You do work, you get grades, and good grades allow you to pursue most any career you want. When I was younger, I did not find history or mathematics to be particularly riveting; but I was highly motivated by good grades. I tried hard despite my disinterest.

I keep coming back to that idea, though: the nature of their education system. When I reflect on what's expected of these kids, part of me wants to blame the class format and the pressure put on exams rather than their apathy toward learning.

For example, I taught a couple classes, to children between 12 and 16 years old, everyday in August. We spent five weeks together, working through a summer review textbook to prepare for an exam they all had in late August or early September. These children had all failed their English exams in May, and were forced to repeat, and pass, the exam or otherwise repeat the course. During class, these children were totally motivated by either the end of class, or the opportunity to talk to another classmate. When assigned work, they worked through it as quickly as possible, often without reading instructions or listening to directions. Afterward, I would correct their mistakes, and they would shake their heads up and down saying they understood, but all the while glancing at their peers and surely ignoring everything I said. At home, to study, they memorized correct answers and even essays. At first, I tried to show them revision and problem-solving methods. Then I realized they didn't care. They just wanted the right answers, so they could pass the exam, and move on. This is all they expect, and this is all that their parents and teachers expect.

Friends and Elliot have told me this extends to university courses. Professors may even deter questions as they "slow down" the class. Students are expected to attend class, listen to lectures, and study, only to be assessed at the end of the semester with a cumulative exam. This exam is all that matters. Afterward, you can forget everything. Empty your brain for the next cramming session.

The nature of the Spanish education system does not seem to facilitate critical analysis or peer-to-peer discussion. Students are encouraged to listen and absorb as much as possible. Whatever is left to learn can be obtained through memorization.

While my education lacked in content (many Spanish teens are learning two or more languages and taking multiple world history classes), I don't think it lacked in methodology. I graduated high school completely capable of writing analytic and persuasive papers, implementing constructive criticism, and managing my time (of course, you can't always ask this of a 12-year-old, but that's what parents are for).

Even after all this experience and reflection, and even some supportive statistics, I still can't help but think that these differences are not cultural or systemic, but rather individually influenced. I remember classmates who refused to follow teachers' advice, who seemed to coast through high school. I suppose one truth that I've found is that, despite individual personality or ambition, the Spanish education system has hardly facilitated my position as a teacher.

Bob Dylan in Spain

I was surprised when Elliot told me a few months ago that some Bob Dylan fan group wanted him to play at their annual celebration of Bob Dylan. He was playing on the street when a guy from this group asked him to come eat, drink, and play music -- probably playing a Bob Dylan song.

Elliot playing on the street in front of Paris 365 during San Fermín.

I'll say his name a fourth time: I just can't believe Bob Dylan has become an even larger part of my life. When I say this, I mean that I got into Dylan when I was young, and although I'm still fascinated by his lyricism and lifestyle, I don't expect this sentiment to grow. (Although I did kind of rediscover the album Desire this past fall.)

This group of Dylan heads, however, has let their love flourish for the guy. Many of them have seen him in concert 10 or more times. Some of them have taken Dylan-related trips to the US (specifically to New York City). They know every album, song, tour. Bona-fide, Pamplonian Bob Dylan fans.

A dedicated fan of the Dylan tribute band: Desolation Band. Check 'em out!

Anyway, Elliot's in a Bob Dylan tribute band now, and they're, well, somewhat successful. They've just started, but their first few concerts have been well-received, by friends and non-friends.

Desolation Band playing at Boulevard Jazz in Pamplona last Saturday.

Spaniards, and I guess you could say Europeans in general, love American and English classic/folk rock. Totally not uncommon to see people jammin' to a CCR hit, singing "Wonchou take a rride on de flyin' espoon!"

Kinda funny, ain't it?

Which vert are you?

I contemplate human behavior a lot, including my own. After reading "Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking" I realized that this contemplative trait makes me an introvert. The book also provoked more contemplating, which I find interesting -- a book about introverts making me more introverted.

Anyway, it relates to my travels in 2 ways:

1. Traveling involves talking to strangers and moving out of your comfort zone. This can involve a lot of stress for an introvert.

2. The book pointed to the United States as the most extroverted country in the world, which I get. The author mentioned Europe as a sort of conglomerate. And she talked about introverts in Chinese communities in California, which I suppose was her representation of Eastern countries. Let's just say her cross-cultural analysis was not particularly awesome. I understand, after all, because you can't load your book with research (if it even exists) from every corner of the world. But it still left me with want to mull over what I see here in Spain. And maybe get some feedback!

The United States has an extroverted reputation because of its focus on speaking your mind, taking charge, and getting ahead -- that's in social circles, work environments, and educational expectations. However, I feel that we also harbor some pretty firm, albeit unwritten, rules regarding personal space. I find that people in Spain don't hesitate at all in approaching a friend, keeping their face very close when speaking to them, or touching them in a friendly way. The same behavior would be considered sort of invasive back home. 

Americans also have a custom of being unnecessarily polite. Not saying that people in Spain are rude, they're just honest. When friends here offer to buy me a beer, I used to say no at first: "No, no, I'll get one! Let me buy YOU a beer!" But they were always very persistent, and often won. Some even confronted me about trying to be polite. So I've learned just to say yes. Because they aren't offering me a beer out of politeness, they just want to buy me a beer. In the same way, people here are not hesitant to tell you if you're getting fat, if they don't like the food, or they despise the music. Not to be rude, just to be honest. On the other hand, the U.S. loves their white lies because they prevent potential conflict.

This brings me to a point that the author of "Quiet" was trying to make. She cited the following statistic a few times: studies show that 1 out of every 2 or 3 people is an introvert. So, while a country like the U.S. may highly value extroverts in many aspects of life, anywhere from 33% to 50% of us are introverted. In other words, we're pushing to raise children and young adults with spunk and pizazz, but some of us just don't have it in our genes. Perhaps our reputation doesn't really speak the truth.

I imagine this statistic can roughly be applied to the Spanish population as well. But I'll still echo that social customs here in Spain are particularly extroverted. So I'm not sure these labels mean the same universally.

Of course, another point that the author makes is that none of us are purely bred introverts or extroverts. We've all got a bit of both, some more than others. (Believe it or not, there is such a thing as an ambivert.) So my love for travel and seeing new places, despite also having a love for Saturday nights at home, makes sense.

Overall, the book was very enlightening, and relates to so many people: employers, employees, parents, teachers, lawyers, etc. (In other words, anybody who comes into contact with introverts, or is one.)

I mentioned feedback at the beginning of the post, and I mean it. Let me know what you think, what experiences you've had as an introvert or extrovert.

Religious influence in the free world

@ La Sagrada Familia, Barcelona

I've had the same conversation a few times since arriving in Pamplona. Usually, this conversation becomes more of an argument, comparing a situation here to one in the United States. I suppose you could call the situation the religiousness of these countries. We start talking about the Catholic influence in Spain, particularly in Navarra, and then I suggest that this religious influence is different but just as strong (if not stronger) in the US, which invites a counter-argument.

Inside La Sagrada Familia

The thing is, no one ever seems to agree with me. You might say that our opinions are rooted in our differing nationalities. But Elliot especially disagrees with me. I probably argue with him more than anyone over this issue.

Mass in La Sagrada Familia

Their opinion: The church, specifically the Catholic church, is very much alive and powerful in Spain. In Navarra, for example, one can choose to give their tax money to the government -- funding public projects and amenities -- or to the church. It's just a matter of checking a different box on the tax form. The only private university in Navarra, and one of the best in the country, is operated by the Opus Dei. In short, the church has too much economical (and thus political) authority in Spanish society.

La Santa Maria de Montserrat, a monastery in Cataluña approximately 4000 ft. above sea level.

My opinion: The church, specifically Jesus, has a very devoted and determined following in the US. There are rights that some people do not have because of religious beliefs. The two big ones are the right to an abortion and the right to a same-sex union. In Spain, they have both! And they've had them for years! Sure, there are efforts to take away these rights, as there always will be, but they've got 'em. I would also like to add that puritanism (rooted in religion) still has a pretty strong sociocultural influence in the US. While it's hard to measure this influence, it's kind of like pornography in the way that you know puritanism when you see it. I'll leave it at that without rambling forever about the many boobs I've seen since arriving here.

Martin Harris Farm, once home to Joseph Smith, the founder of the Mormon church. The residents 

at the time (August 2010) wouldn't let 2 bike tourists camp on their grounds because they weren't 

members of the church. They did, however, give them apples and zucchini bread the next morning.

My argument may not be readily accepted for a couple reasons. Firstly, Catholicism in Spain is very unified. Contrarily, Catholicism in the US represents a minority, and several different other sects of Christianity are practiced throughout the country. Secondly, religious influence in Spain can be measured economically. As I said before, religious influence is more difficult to measure in the US. Perhaps we could measure it counting how many radical Christians have positions of authority.

It's difficult to be brief about something like this, but I tried my best. And I certainly welcome any comments to further the discussion.

La Sagrada Familia, as seen from Parc Guell. Can you say "massive structure in the name of God"?

Semi-annual conclusions on teaching English in Pamplona

I've passed the 6-month milestone in teaching this month. And I'd like to offer some thoughts to those interested, as I had some trouble researching the issue before coming here.

1. It was easy to find work. Granted, this may not go for everywhere in Spain, and definitely not everywhere in the world. When we arrived, we hung up 40 fliers on phone booths, bus stops, telephone poles, etc. We also posted a couple announcements on Craiglist-type websites. And that was it. Within a week, we had a few bites. Within a month, we almost had a complete schedule. Since then, we've been rejecting students because we're up to our ears in requests. Although it is common here to study English in school, the language is not widely spoken in Pamplona. That's mostly due to the fact that English teachers are often from Spain. Our students need to master English for their professions or a university entry exam, and this necessitates a native English speaker. Furthermore, people dig the American accent. Some want to travel (or already do travel) to the states, and they want to fit in as much as possible. In short, we came to Pamplona with a resource that (unbeknownst to us) was in really high demand.

2. Students are notoriously flaky. As I mentioned before, this statement implicates students from Pamplona only. Not only do they cancel and reschedule classes on the fly, but some of them can also be very conflicted about whether they even want classes or not. I understand, because it can be difficult to demand someone to demand something of you. I mean, who asks for homework assignments? But it's easy to get frustrated because you often need their money to live a decent life. Of course, when students have dropped my classes in the past, it hasn't been a big deal (see #1). Sometimes, though, I attend a class hoping for a 10-spot that I can use to buy some bread and cheese the next morning. So when my student says "Oh sorry, I can't come to class today" or "Oh sorry, I don't have money today" it can be like a little pinch on your arm. You get over it fairly quickly, but at the time it's a bummer.

3. On that note, it serves to mention money. For the most part, my students have been pretty easy-going about money. They don't argue about price. They offer to pay me when I want to be paid. Sometimes they even tip! It took a while to learn this, but the best thing to do at the beginning is establish a clear payment method. Explain how much you want to be paid, why you're charging that much, and also why you prefer to be paid weekly, monthly, whatever. Students will understand. They might end up changing the class time every week, but they will understand.

4. Not every student is a linguistics nerd. Even though I find studying language (as well as its components and acquisition) very interesting, my students might not. So when I start throwing words around like phrasal verb, deductive modal, or intonation, it doesn't really motivate the student at all. In fact, it just confuses them sometimes. You can't expect them to understand why sentences are structured a certain way. All you can really ask is that they structure them the right way. Some students aren't interested in grammar at all. They just want to feel comfortable talking. So if you're considering being an English teacher for the thrill of discussing linguistic nuances with your students, dream on.

5. Working in an educational institution can be way worse than individual classes, or way better. In my case, it's better. The school is really small, and the classes are often individuals or small groups of people. In addition to English, they offer tutoring in other topics like math, German, and Spanish. The director of the school is really great, and always around. What I really appreciate is that she handles the shitty aspects of teaching (i.e. finding students, charging students, printing/copying worksheets). Plus, these students are paying a tad bit more than I would charge, so it feels like they truly are enthusiastic about learning. Of course, working in a school can be terrible, from what I've heard. Some schools don't pay their teachers very well, they don't offer them any resources to use in their classes, and their students are often young and bored. And some teachers would prefer individual classes, because it offers more flexibility. Most of the teachers I've met in Pamplona are also university students who don't have 20 plus hours to devote to an institutional teaching position.

6. Young students can be great if their parents don't hold you to very high standards. Don't get me wrong, I love being held to high standards. However, there's only so much I can do with one or two hours per week. I realized that some parents only expect you to supplement their children's English teachings, but a few expect you to advance or even replace their children's teachings. The latter is nearly impossible if the child doesn't care to learn or study, which is a common problem. I could give a shit whether they like my classes or not, but when the parents crack down on you for their children's poor grades...no fun. Otherwise, I really enjoy working with kids. Some of them are better than the adults.

7. Lesson-planning is a legit skill. If you can't do it, you might want to reconsider this professional decision. There are the some students that just want to practice speaking in English. They don't expect worksheets, exercises, or activities. You just show up with a topic and discuss it for an hour or so. Most students, though, especially those at a lower level, expect structured classes. This obligates the teacher to not only have materials prepared, but also to arrange their order of presentation. For example, you start with a brief review of vocabulary or easy conversation to get the student warmed up. Follow that with some new concepts related to grammar, pronunciation, spelling, etc. Finally, you want to make sure the student can apply the new information practically so you prompt them to speak or write. It would be stupid to ask the student to write about something they haven't learned yet, or to interrupt the study and application phases of the lesson with an irrelevant game (unless the student is 5 years old with a short attention span).

8. It's okay to not be the world's best English teacher. I've found that while I may be a decent teacher, I don't enjoy it. So sometimes I find myself not trying too hard to think of interesting topics for my students. Shame on me, I know. I'm trying to make a point, though, by admitting that yes, teaching English is just another job to me. But I will do well in any work situation, because I want to please people. I think there is a weird pressure that falls on teachers to be exceptionally passionate about what they do. I don't think that's essential. Sure, you appreciate a great teacher, but why are they any different than anybody else? They still have bad days, when they hate everyone, even your kids. I'm not passionate about teaching English, but I'm good at it. My students aren't inspired, but they're satisfied.

Like I said, I wish that someone like present-me was there seven months ago to tell past-me these things about teaching English. Thus, I'm open to any inquiries from those who are in the same confused/curious/anxious state.

This is your English teacher, using her native language to build lego towers.

Taking it to the streets

A very visible difference between Spain's population and that of the US: the latter keeps its celebrations on the inside.

Maybe it was too presumptuous to infer these countries entirely. What I mean to say is that the street feel that I've felt here in Pamplona is very different from anything I've seen or felt in Philadelphia. Unfortunately, I can't really speak for other Spanish cities, or other US cities for that matter.

My argument, however, remains the same: we Americans don't take to the streets nearly as often.

This past Saturday was the Día del Casco Viejo (Day of the Old Quarter). We celebrated in the usual way: outdoors.

@ Calle de los Mercaderes

@ Calle de la Curia

@ Plaza Consistorial

@ Calle de Jarauta

@ Calle del Pozo Blanco

Sure, this weekend was especially alive with activity and celebration. But you'd be surprised how similar a typical Thursday night is to this scene. Hell, I've seen families (grandparents, children, and all) carrying birthday cakes to sit outside a bar, sing, and open presents. Street life is very present in this city of nearly 200,000. Consider cities of comparable size in the US: Chattanooga, Rochester, Boulder. Granted, I've never lived in those places, but I can bet that it just ain't the same.

Okay, alright, I'll stop making speculations for a minute and tell you a bit about my actual, lived experience in Pennsylvania.

Growing up, I got to know Greensburg, PA pretty well. My dad always liked to drive the long way somewhere, and my daycare teachers were big fans of taking a stroll through downtown.

As I got older, my parents would warn me about walking around at night. The worst hour, according to them, was 2 AM when all the bars let out (all 8 of them). That hour may have been the most bustling hour of the night in Greensburg, as everything else shuts down after quittin' time. Anyway, I avoided the night life in my hometown, whatever that was.

Entering my senior year in high school, I had a pretty solid group of friends and we had a pretty solid meeting spot: DV8, a sweet independent coffee shop downtown. Not only did this place offer music, board games, and soy milk, but it was also open until 11 PM on Fridays and Saturdays. Hallelujah!

Of course, one coffee shop and a city full of old people ain't gonna keep me around. So I moved to Philadelphia. I still wasn't of age to drink, so "going out" consisted of dorm parties and moonlit bike rides during my freshman and sophomore years. Even when I turned 21, going out was just too expensive to do too often. So we bought our beers at a six-pack shop and went to our houses to drink them. Occasionally, on a really nice day, we took our beers to the park. This was, and still is, illegal -- so you had to be discrete.

Even during specifically outdoor functions like parades or festivals, people don't really recognize the street as a place to be. My family has always been a fan of the Greensburg parades (4th of July and holiday parades, specifically). Rarely, though, did we ever stick around after the parade -- you know, to get a drink or a bite to eat. Mainly because nothing was open on a Saturday afternoon, but also because it just wasn't expected.

In Philly, block parties are the shit. But you celebrate maybe once a year and then never talk to your neighbors again until the next one. Plus, block parties rarely involve surrounding businesses that can offer food, drinks, atmosphere, whatever.

So back to speculating. I think that part of this cultural difference is due to some hard-to-change factors.

1. We can't walk around with a drink in our hands. I don't even want to go down the block. I just want to step outside, with my beer, and find a stoop or smoke a cigarette. But unless the bar has a designated terrace or patio, no way José. So we're stuck inside.

2. Pedestrians no longer dominate the streets. In Pamplona's old quarter, cars are permitted, but only at certain times of the day. Any other time you face blockades that can only be removed by police. Even so, people occupy every nook and cranny of these stone streets. As you can see in the pictures above, we're not worried about jaywalking or waiting for the light. We stand wherever we want and we're welcome to do so. In the US, cars dominate, even in an old city like Philly. We're lucky if we get sidewalks that are 10 feet wide. Occasionally, your street might be blocked off for a party. But that has to be arranged. Extra pedestrian space also better facilitates drinking and eating in the street (see #1).

Thus, we have learned to adapt our celebrations. Normally, when I consider the differences between here and home, I come to the conclusion that we're just different, that there are pros and cons to living either way. Regarding this issue, however, I feel -- pretty firmly -- that people benefit enormously from communal celebrations in the street. Even if it's just a Thursday night, and we're all going out with our separate circles, it feels great to be outside with other people. Businesses participate and benefit as well, making the community closer and mutually sustainable.

In other words, I dig this, and I will miss it.

Making judgments about judgers

How often do you attribute your behavior to your background? Are you loud because you're Italian? A good dancer because you're Black? Cultured because you're French? Drunk because you're Irish?

What about the not-so-positive things? Are you lazy because you're Spanish? Selfish because you're American? Bullheaded because you're Australian? Shy because you're Korean?

In my opinion, I was brought up with the rise of political correctness. I grew up in a house where potentially offensive jokes were made, and often. But I went to a school where we learned to avoid generalizations and stereotypes (of white people anyway). Making judgments across the board was bad, and still is.

But when you're sitting at the dinner table with people from all over (Columbia, Sweden, Turkey, US, Spain, Germany), generalizations are practically unavoidable. We don't judge, necessarily, but maybe we make statements like "You are that way and I am this way because you're from there and I'm from here." And then maybe you laugh if it's funny, or keep talking if it's not.

Perhaps it is because we are in a diverse environment that we feel comfortable pointing out our differences. We can talk about skin color, eye shape, and language without offending each other. And we don't ever intend to offend.

I can't help but wonder, does this only happen when you travel?


An example: people here keep telling me how mannerly and hospitable latinos are compared to Spaniards. The generalization can range from something like "They'll always invite you to a drink or a meal" to "They don't know how to say no." It doesn't seem so bad though, because Spaniards aren't afraid to say it in front of latinos, and the latter don't seem offended. So no harm, no foul, right?


Another example: people here tend to stereotype the population of young people studying abroad in Spain. These kids are often characterized by poor Spanish-speaking skills, lots of drinking, and white socks with cargo shorts. They're seen as naive and vulnerable, but also great party-mates. These abroad-ers are privileged, for sure. But does that mean they warrant generalizations?


A final example: friends here always say the people of Pamplona are very guarded, so it's difficult to get to know someone. The population of Pamplona is described as closed-off, suspicious, and maybe even stubborn. I always want to argue, because I've met many great people from Pamplona. Then again, they seem to be people that have traveled. 


I don't think this phenomenon is limited to transient circumstances. I think it has become more apparent to me because I'm often in culturally/ethnically/linguistically diverse environments. Most of the time, I don't think twice about it, because my friends never have bad intentions when they make certain speculations about differences between people. But...I was always told you can't do that. You can't take one example, and generalize it to a whole sect of people.


Maybe it's because I am the one that's self-conscious of being stereotyped. I hate to think that there are people in this very city who dislike me because of my background. But shit, who complains about being stereotyped as an American? I feel like a fuckin' chump whining about how people might pin me as fat, stupid, and cruel -- because I'm not, duh. The thing is, though, I tend to talk a lot in conversations. And halfway through, I realize that I'm talking a lot. I think, is that because I'm American and I feel I should dominate conversations, or is that because I'm me? Hard to tell. So I shut up so they don't think I'm just another big loudmouth.


There are times, though, where I can't let a generalization slide. Maybe it's coming from an unexperienced mouth, or a vindictive soul. So I take the opposite stance, even if I think part of what the person is saying might be true, just because I don't think they know enough to make the conclusion they're making. Is that pretentious of me? Perhaps. I guess it's just the way I try to mediate my own generalization tendencies as well as my need for fairness and accuracy.

An good example of this, I think, would be this guy. Although I don't prefer to give him publicity, because he's just another businessman, that blog post made me think.

Well, first it made me indignant. He could've met a completely different world of people and had a very different outlook. He acknowledges this, and yet continues to generalize Americans as sensitive, overly positive, religious, etc.

The thing is, though, I agree with a lot of things he says, because I've met a lot of people similar to those he describes.

However, I'd be willing to argue to the death with him --not in an effort to defend my country or any bullshit like that-- but because I grew up in that country, and I think I know it better. I will not leave Spain after a year, and draft a list of reasons why it sucks. One year spent traveling or living in a country does not represent the experience of a childhood, a family, or imprisonment in that country. Ya dig?

Anyway, enough rambling from me. Stay tuned for some posts about neighborhood celebrations, American bands in Barcelona, and semi-annual updates on teaching English.

Skiing down the mountain of my emotions

I've tried a lot of new things since my arrival in Spain.

Rabbit, horse, octopus, lamb.
Patxaran, ratafía, Jagermeister.
Haggling, apologizing, joking [in Spanish].

So when our friends invited us to a weekend in Hernani and a Saturday skiing on the slopes of Gourette, France, I didn't think twice. I just said yes.

It wasn't until I was on my ass at the bottom of a practice hill after having shoved off for the first time that I realized I might not be so great at it.

I'm not sure why, but before even trying, I was in the mindset that skiing was pretty simple. After seeing the "Aspen" episode of South Park a dozen times, I figured I would french-fry when I wanted to pick up speed, and pizza when I wanted to stop. So there I was, at the top of the same slope where all the French toddlers were taking lessons. I used my poles to thrust forward and found myself accelerating a bit too fast. I turned my knees inward, trying to pizza as much as possible, but I continued to hurl toward a line of people at the bottom. I let my ski poles drag on the snow and squatted down eventually coming to a stop. I got up laughing, gloves already soaked, but I was a bit shaken. Skiing wasn't something I was just going to pick up. It wasn't like riding a bike. It took a lot more focus and balance, which are not my strong points.

Later, though, I started having fun. I was still falling on every run, but we had progressed to an actual slope with turns and banks. They called it "Happy Place". I was feeling pretty good. We even got some action shots of me on two feet. I was french-frying a bit more, only pizza-ing when necessary, and I was excited to go again each time we got to the bottom.

We all decided to move onto something different, but on the same level. Like I said, I was in a good mood so I was game. I should've just stayed on the ground when I missed the opportunity to sit with my friends on the ski lift. I was swaying in the air by myself, watching the skiers underneath me. I was searching for a second Happy Place, but all I could see were wide, steep slopes. I had a bad feeling and we weren't even halfway up the lift; but I ignored it. What good was it going to do me then?

I stared out over the slope -- it was level blue, not level green as we thought -- and continued to force a smile even though my heart was racing. I lightly pushed forward to follow the others who had already shoved off. Suddenly, it was like that first practice run. I was going too fast, and pizza-ing wasn't slowing me down enough. I twisted my body and dragged my poles, making myself fall. Putting my skis in a perpendicular position, I lifted myself back up on wobbly legs. Elliot and the others had stopped a bit further down the hill, waiting for me.

"Come on, Sarah! It's okay!" And then some instructions in Spanish on how to zig-zag down the hill, rather than diving straight down. It didn't matter. The mere thought of twisting my body even slightly flooded my brain with thoughts of picking up momentum, going too fast, not being able to stop, flying off a hillside and busting my skull on ice and rocks. I was absolutely paralyzed. And I started to sob a little.

Suddenly, I was 16 and I was in Mexico. I was trying to make a deal with this vendor selling ceramic Aztec calendars at the pyramids in Teotihuacan. He handed me the piece so I could examine it, but I let it drop and shatter on the desert ground. I was mortified; and even more so when this man, who was obviously worse off than me, apologized and offered to give it to me for nothing. I tried to say, in broken Spanish, that I could not possibly accept, that I would pay double what he was asking. I walked away humiliated, and when the first person asked me what was wrong, I burst into tears and buried my face in Elliot's shirt.

Elliot inched his way back up the hill to help me. I apologized, not only because I didn't mean to get so upset; but also because I had a feeling the rest of my day wouldn't get any better. I had reached my peak of anxiety and fear, and I ended up walking or falling down what was left of the run. The muscles in my butt and legs had also grown tired, and so maneuvering haphazardly down the hills was even more difficult.

I was shaken up and exhausted. I felt like a wet blanket, but I didn't want to be. I felt unable to express myself in any language, unable to cheer myself up. I wanted to disappear so my friends could have fun.

Traveling has always seemed sort of against my personality. I consider myself very much an introvert, but at the same time I truly enjoy meeting new people and seeing new places. I also like being with Elliot, who is widely known as the most social of all butterflies. So I'm often in situations that make me anxious or on edge. Normally, it doesn't phase me. I may not be outgoing or flamboyant, but I remain interested and eager. But there have been a handful of moments in my life where this anxiousness has caught up with me, where I feel like imploding.

I suppose I'm telling you this, not only because it involves travel, exploration, and a bit of culture shock -- but also because, like my writing, my feelings (bad or good) are not something I put on display very often.

Going underground

Music, for myself and many of the people I know, is the glue that binds us. It often represents a state of mind, be it political or inebriated, to which friends can relate. Not only does it facilitate a successful chill session, but your music tastes can let people know how you like to feel, even if it doesn't show on the outside. Throughout my life, I have associated a kind of music (hell, sometimes I can narrow it down to a fuckin' song) with the people I know and love. 

The most all encompassing word I can think of is alternative, and that's what we tend to be. Our sexualities, our politics, our food, our clothes, our language, and our music reflect an alternative to what is considered mainstream, acceptable, or normal.

Continuously, to my surprise, I've found that this glue might be contained only within the US, perhaps just Pennsylvania. As I meet the alternative folk of Pamplona, we share a lot of things, but music isn't usually one of them. This has perpetuated a long series of thoughts about music, the scene, friendship, differences, etc. which I will try to get into here, as coherently as possible.

Take our trip to Elizondo last weekend: it's a rural little town north of Pamplona, very close to the French border. Elliot and I accompanied our friend in his camper to his band's show at Elizondo's gaztetxea (pronounced gaz-ste-che). Now, the best English to Basque translation we can come up with is infoshop, and even that phrase doesn't have a whole lot of meaning for some people.

In a lot of ways, this show was what I was used to in Philly.

You know, a lot of young people, makeshift stage, shit on the floor, BO smell, etc. There were posters promoting other shows or political protests plastered on the walls, folks drinking beer and smoking cigarettes, and random shouts and screams in between songs.

The differences were interesting though. Besides the in-house bar and the rural location, this show was distinct from anything I had ever experienced in Philly or Pittsburgh. This was mostly due, I think, to the persistence of tradition in everything unconventional.

Before the show, we marched through the town with other attendees and a band of drums, flutes, and violins. This folky spectacle was not really rooted in anything indie (i.e. bearded 20-somethings playing soft tunes), nor was it a harkening to old times (bearded 20-somethings playing the banjo). This tradition maintains itself as just that. We marched for an hour or so, stopping at a few bars along the way so musicians and marchers alike could wet their whistles and enjoy the night.

After the parade, people sat down to dinner (vegan-friendly) provided by the gaztetxea. While potlucks and the like certainly aren't foreign ideas to the alternative scenes in the US, I wouldn't call them common. Furthermore, we usually don't cook for 40+ people pre-show. After dinner, we heard bottles of patxaran clinking as people served themselves and passed them down the table. Eating, and eating with a group, is very integral to Navarran culture. This goes for its subcultures as well. I can't tell you how many times I've heard someone say to me, "Here in Navarra, we eat well, and we drink well."

Finally, the band was not punk at all. Nor was it metal, hardcore, or noise. It was an overall feel-good band with flamenco, reggae, and funk influences. That's not a bad thing, it's just...different. The singer, wonderful. The band, exceptional. The music, definitely rooted in genre(s) that have been popular in Spain (in some cases, across the world) for a long time. From what I could understand of the lyrics, it seems like they use words as a way of challenging norms, rather than the music. In the US, there are a lot of bands that do both, but the music is always somewhat (often very) provocative. However, the band we saw last weekend was pretty chill. Again, not a bad thing.

I wouldn't say my tastes in music are limited. But I will admit that I have some narrow perceptions of what it is to be alternative, or what it is to challenge a system. Sometimes, I think I will butt heads with people due to their ideas of what is radical. Consequently, I miss out on the opportunity to see the divergences in people. I neglect to see their extremes. And so dulls my own ax against a mutual evil we might have, figuratively speaking. 

Of course, I have my own nuanced philosophies, which I tend to hold back due to a fear of butting heads with people who think differently. People who think differently because they were socialized differently.

A question I ask myself, and now I ask you: How does the conversation begin?

Burning bridges

Spain has a reputation alright -- apart from its phenomenal food, contentious history, and dreamy scenery, the country's people have become known as kind of, well, loafers.

Sure, the first lazy latin stereotype to come to mind is the sombrero-dawning Mexican sleeping in the shadow of a cactus. However, especially in northern Europe, Spanish people are often pigeon-holed as lousy workers who mooch off other countries' euros. Because of this, the new conservative government is cutting back, not only on social programs, but also something called the puente (literally "bridge").

Spaniards have a total of 14 religious and municipal holidays per year. This seems like a travesty to some Europeans; take the Germans, who only get between 8 and 11 holidays per year, depending on the state. Keepin' it relative: the US has 10 federal holidays. To top it off, it's common for Spaniards to take an extra day or two off, especially if two holidays occur close together. That's what we call a "bridge holiday".

Let's say, for example, Constitution Day (Dec. 6) falls on a Tuesday and the Immaculate Conception Day falls on the following Thursday (Dec. 8). It's possible -- hell even probable -- that some workers may take off the Wednesday in between. Some businesses might even close for the whole week.

So in the eyes of those who don't live in Spain (i.e. Northern Europeans), they're taking advantage of the European Union. Not only do they take three-hour lunches every day, but they go on vacation all the time, even when there isn't a legitimate holiday. And who takes off for the immaculate conception anyway?

In response to this, the current conservative prime minister has declared that most public holidays (excluding Christmas or New Year's Day) will be moved to Monday -- you know, like they do in the states. That way, Spaniards can only take a three-day weekend, and nothing more.

To some, this is a blow to tradition. After all, these holidays have long been an opportunity for relaxation, maybe a little travel, and celebration.

To others, however, the elimination of bridge holidays have been a godsend. Namely, workers paid by the hour are thrilled to have work. In fact, they found these extra days annoying. After all, they don't get paid for time off.

Salaried workers, of course, could give a shit. They often have paid vacation days, and thus, take off when they want to, whether federally mandated or not.

Now that you know the scoop, join the debate. Because I'm not quite sure how I feel about this issue.

On one hand, you have a society less preoccupied with work. A society that likes spending money to enjoy themselves; whether that means a weekend beach trip, a fancy dinner, or a drinking binge. They value relaxation and recreation, and they try not to take life so seriously.

On the other hand, you've got a bunch of slackers who may be holding other people back. In an increasingly globalized world, it serves to work a more compact schedule that's compatible with that of other countries (especially those within your time zone). And tradition is no excuse; we've been giving up the tradition of oppressing women for decades.

On one hand, I hate this kind of legislation because it encourages a work ethic with which I can't agree. More and more, the 9-5 workday of the Western world is expected, whether you're really working or not, and whether you enjoy your job or not. To assimilate, Spain has changed its retirement age to 67, just like Germany. Spain's life expectancy is somewhere around 81 years old. Doesn't leave a lot of time to enjoy your spoils, does it?

On the other hand, I understand the need to eliminate public holidays. Most of them celebrate a religion I don't support anyway. Plus, there are people who want to work, because they don't have any money. If they can't work, they can't support themselves or their families. The unemployment rate has peaked at somewhere around 23% (nearly 50% in some demographics). But my next question is, why can't they find jobs? Is there a deeper problem with the economy? Will more workdays boost employment?

Something I am really proud of is my own work ethic. I'm organized and I have a great method of conquering projects. But I can't decide if that is my own nature, or whether I've been taught to value production and nothing else. I haven't learned a new skill in a long time, although I've attempted many: banjo, painting, knitting, gardening. Some of my efforts have failed because of outside forces, but most failed because I couldn't get ahead of the learning curve. I wasn't producing anything, so I gave up. It was easier to spend an extra 10 hours at work anyway, because I was guaranteed to make something: cash money.

The good news I used that extra dough to get myself here, another country, another continent. But I face the same troubles in Spain. I plan English lessons, almost compulsively, all the while wishing I had time to devote to writing, reading, or taking a walk. But I can pump out lesson plans like a champ. So I do it.

It comes down to a really difficult question: why do we work? The answer seems so simple: to live.

Who's living?

Tales of a drunken ex-pat

First thing's first: being drunk in Spain is pretty much like being drunk in the states. The main difference is instead of thinking things like "Woah, I love my friends, man!" you think things like "Woah, I'm in Spain, man!"

But maybe I should be more precise. Because drinking is not just a way to get drunk. Here, in fact, drinking is part of the very fabric that is la cultura Pamplonica. So I'm just doing as the Romans do, ya dig?

Anyway, I often have the same thoughts when I'm out at a bar:

Man, I am so geeked out on being here. Maybe I'll never leave.
I speak Spanish way better when I'm a little tipsy.
I bet I could entertain everybody just as well as this band.
I just wanna kiss everyone, because they are all so awesome.


It's funny, though, how those thoughts can completely turn themselves around with a little more cerveza:

I speak Spanish way better when I'm sober.
I wish friends from home were here.
I would kiss all of them, because they are all so awesome.
I hate this band.


Sometimes, I even get a little rowdy. I don't start fights or anything, but I start nudging Elliot and saying things like:

You see all these white people?
Dude, you are so handsome.
Man, ain't nobody here who knows how to dance.


Most of my nights out bar-hoppin' end up with me talking to some random dude from Pamplona about Philadelphia:

Philly is the best place for music, man.
New York City isn't at all like Philly.
I'm not really from Philly.


In general, I get emotional when I drink. Whether it's feelin' on top of the world, or lonely as hell, it gets real. Can't wait to share a beer with y'all on the other side. For now, I'll just keep on clinking glasses with the Pamplona folk.

How I miss the American drinks on the table...
This is the impression I give Spaniards as an ambassador to the free world.

Selling myself short

We were barely two weeks into our new lives in Spain, but we already had appointments with prospective students and even more calling. Elliot answered the call from Liliana, but handed the phone to me as she expressed interest in classes for her two sons, ages 14 and 19. We had decided that I would teach the younger learners; and I felt more comfortable with kids. It was still difficult for me to talk on the phone, so I tried to keep the conversation short. With the air of an experienced babysitter, and perhaps a hint of arrogance, I was on my bike to their apartment the next morning.

Liliana buzzed me into the building and greeted me at the door with a baby on her hip.

"Hola, ¿como estás?" I said, trying to make small talk while I looked for a place to put down my helmet and my bag. It had been raining, so I apologized for dripping everywhere. She smiled at me revealing two silver front teeth.

"Somos de Perú," she said, adding that her sons had only been in Spain for four years. Each had some language training, but they hadn't really retained anything. And it turned out that the baby on her hip was her nephew; his father was also living in the apartment.

After meeting the boys briefly, and talking more with their mother about what kind of class they would prefer, we started discussing price. Elliot and I have a sliding scale rate of 10€ to 15€ per hour for our classes, depending on how much preparation we have to do outside of the class. These boys already had textbooks, so Liliana and I figured not much more would be needed. I settled, then, at 10€ per hour. She wanted two hours a week for each of them, so I left thinking I had done right by this family, and I had added 40€ to our weekly income.


My first class with the older teen was just a few days later. I found their place a little easier this time, so I arrived a few minutes early. It was one of the boys who buzzed me up this time, but the mother still greeted me at the door. A few words into our small talk and I realized she was saying something more than hello, how are you. There was a problem with the price.


Suddenly, I felt like she was speaking very quickly. She wanted me to lower the price, that much was clear. She had spoken to other people who said they've heard of teachers charging less. She wanted to pay 35€ instead of 40€.


I tried to explain that the rate I charged was for my time and experience, that Elliot and I were partners and we decided on a minimum rate of 10€ per hour. After all, we had read that most teachers charged a minimum of 15€ per hour. I felt like we were already giving her a deal. No one else had disputed price before. Why did I have to sell myself to her for five more euros?


I gave into her discounted price at first, because I was already there to teach a class, and I wanted to avoid any further confrontation. So I taught the class, all the while thinking anxiously about what had just happened. By the time two hours had passed, I had decided to talk about it later with Elliot. If he thought it was too little, I would call Liliana and explain that we couldn't accommodate her situation. At this point, I definitely preferred talking to her on the phone rather than to her face. 


Once we finished, she came back into the living room with a 50€ bill. I was confused again.


"Lo siento, igual no te he entendido." I felt like an amateur. Dumb. Maybe even crazy. And she seemed a little frustrated. Why wasn't I getting this?


I thought she wanted to pay 35€ per week for two classes, each two hours long. But she thought I expected that price for each class, thus amounting to 70€ per week. Ah, what a great misunderstanding! I was so glad to tell her I didn't expect to earn nearly as much as she thought. I couldn't stop smiling, anticipating that this weird tension would evaporate. We both laughed, me nervously and her somewhat skeptically, but I left feeling better.


The weird tension didn't really go away, though. I realized over the next few weeks that these boys didn't know a whole lot. Each of them had important exams within the month, so we just had to hit the books to cover as much material as possible. And the books sucked. These kids relied heavily on dictionaries and internet translations, which made conversation nearly impossible. Let's just say it's a good thing I spoke Spanish; otherwise the classes may have crashed and burned. 


Plus I was feeling a lot of pressure from their mother. Every week she would ask me how they were doing, if they were advancing. I was hesitant to say yes, because they weren't. But how could I say no -- we had only been working together for a few weeks.


When the exams were approaching, I started to wonder what our classes could be like afterward. I could design my own lesson plans, teach at a more appropriate pace, and maybe even get these boys to enjoy the classes! There was a catch, however. In order for me to do this comfortably, I would have to ask for a little more money. But I felt like money was what had made this relationship weird in the first place.


Biking to their apartment one day, I rehearsed the conversation in my head. At the end of that class, I asked to speak with her. I kept my speech tempo up, to get in as much as possible before she could interrupt. I tried to remain open by making these more formal classes seem like just another option. But at the same time, I emphasized that the books alone don't do a great job of explaining and elaborating certain topics.


She seemed interested, but she still continued to ask why I would want five euros more per class. Sure, I wanted to say, it's only five euros more. But maybe she was thinking that's 20 more per month. So I stood there, and sold myself again. Well, I explained, I have to prepare these extra materials outside of class, and this takes time. She understood, and conceded.


But it just seemed so reluctant. Of course I expected her teenage sons to be a little resistant, but not her. I didn't want her to think that I was teaching classes purely for monetary gain, and at the same time I could not trivialize my own work ethic. 


I'm proud of myself, because I've never asked for a raise before. I didn't think I would feel so conflicted afterward, though.  

It ain't no Jeopardy, that's for sure

We've found a great, new, edgy way to learn Spanish. Instead of attending a class, or investing in Muzzy, just follow the several entertaining game shows that air in Spain every single day.

Pros: You broaden your vocabulary through random trivia questions (about both Spanish and non-Spanish people or things), you witness useless and annoying banter between the hosts and contestants, and even if you don't follow a word you can at the very least determine who has won and who hasn't simply by looking for frowns vs. smiles!

Cons: Native Spaniards think you're kind of strange for knowing so much about game shows!

The host of "Ahora Caigo!" welcoming the audience.

1. ¡Ahora Caigo! (American version is called "Who's Still Standing?")
The set-up of this show consists of one contestant and 10 "opponents" who go back and forth answering trivia questions about anything from pop culture to literature to other game shows. If the contestant doesn't know a question, she has three passes to her opponent to avoid losing. If the opponent misses a question, however, she gets a big "aww" from the audience and then falls through a trapdoor underneath her feet. This same fate can fall upon the contestant if she uses all of her passes. So now I'm sure you can imagine the russian roulette ambience this game show has! Each opponent is worth a certain amount of euros to the contestant (1€ to 5,000€), so as she beats more of them, she wins more money. If she beats all of them she gets the ultimate prize of 100,000€. On the weekends, the prize is 200,000€ and opponents are worth even more. Sometimes contestants leave with only some of their winnings, as they're hesitant to go on and lose everything. And sometimes you get to see the host do an awful horse impression!

This "Ahora Caigo!" contestant is trying to determine "what English term is used when a
soccer player makes three goals in a game." 

2. Atrapa un millón (American version is called "Million Dollar Money Drop")
This show is just two contestants answering 8 different questions, each with four possible answers. Sometimes the contestants are two friends or family members, and sometimes the contestant is hooked up with a random celebrity. Whatever their relation, contestants work together to strategically gamble their original quantity of 200,000€ as they answer each question. For example, if two of the answers seem very plausible to the contestants, and they can't decide which to go for, they can divide up their remaining cash (literally bundles of 5,000€) to ensure that they move on to the next level. Whatever money they put on the incorrect answers falls through a trapdoor and into a large container. Most contestants only end up with 15,000€ or less by the end of the game, but that's still something to write home about. 

The stage of "Atrapa un millón" -- note the big pile of cash on the right.

3. Uno para ganar (no American version available, but literally translated as "One to Win")
Now this show separates itself from the others by involving much less knowledge, but a lot more grace, swiftness, and patience. Contestants must complete somewhat useless tasks with various household objects, within 60 seconds mind you, in order to move through each of the ten rounds, each time with more money at stake. The "one" in the name means "one minute" to win. The tasks start out easy -- maybe something like taking 120 tissues out of a tissue box one at a time with only one hand -- and they get harder -- we have yet to see anyone successfully stack three golfballs on top of each other. If the contestant beats every level, which has yet to happen, they win 500,000€. Some people are crazy about this show, especially the contestants. Most of them have seen every episode, and thus every challenge possible. In fact, there is an inventory of the tasks on Wikipedia. My favorite has to be the one that has the contestant wear a pedometer strapped around their head; within 60 seconds, they must head-bang their heads until the pedometer reads 125 steps. Keep in mind, they can't see the pedometer themselves, and so they basically just shake their heads violently for a whole minute. Enough to make you cry -- from laughter!

She may look pretty now, but all contestants look like they're being electrocuted when they do this challenge.

4. Tu sí que vales (again, no American version, but literally translated as "You're Worth It")
Some may not consider this a game show, because it's more like a talent show, but there is a contest and there is money on the line! This show is like "American Idol" in that it involves three judges that influence the fate of the contestant, but it is better because while there are many singers, there are also pizza dough jugglers, magicians, comedians, and dancers. Talk about entertainment! Both the audience and the judges get to vote as to whether the contestant is "worth it." If there is a unanimous vote, the contestant receives 1000€ immediately. Unfortunately, there is also the typical stern and sour judge, reminiscent of Simon Cowell. He has a stupid faux-hawk, wears sunglasses inside all the time, and is only popular because people think he "tells it like it is" when in reality he just likes to say no because it increases ratings. (This reminds me of the recent season six premiere of "30 Rock" where Jenna plays this cynical judge role -- see I still watch American TV, too!)

The host, judges, and other characters on "Tu sí que vales" -- note the jackass third from the left.

So now you know a little bit more about Spain's trashy TV programs. Show those "Jersey Shore" looneys that you're more cultured than them!